Talent Mastery
by Silverr
Summary: Orbaz threatens Koltira. Thassarian overreacts. ** Set pre-Light's Hope. Written as a Yuletide Madness 2011 treat for Ponderosa.


Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

Written for Ponderosa as a Treat in the Yuletide 2011 challenge.

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><p><strong>Talent Mastery<br>**

_by silverr_

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><p><em>Set pre-Light's Hope, while Death's Breach was being established.<em>

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Acherus was for the most part a quiet place when initiates weren't being tested, but today it was quieter than quiet. Thassarian handed the reports on Eastern Kingdoms to Darion, then asked, "Where is everyone?"

Darion, reading, said absently, "By 'everyone' I assume you mean Deathweaver. I sent him with Bloodbane on a scouting mission."

"Just the two of them?"

Darion looked up from the report. "You have a problem with that?"

"They don't get along." An understatement. Orbaz, the self-styled Hand of Suffering who usually displayed rabid eld hatred at every opportunity, was especially livid that Koltira had been allowed in the Lich King's service.

"We're not here to get along," Darion rumbled. "We're here to do Arthas' will." He resumed reading. "I told them to work out their differences. There's work to be done." It was clear that the discussion was over.

Not that Thassarian was worried: Koltira could take care of himself, a fact that the elf tended to point out with explosive emphasis. Just that morning, in fact, when Thassarian had offered to share his out-of-the-way alcove with him during rest periods—pointing out that it would make Koltira less of an easy target—Koltira had hissed that he was _not_ an easy target, and that anyone who thought so was welcome to test him and die the second death.

"Is there anything else?" Darion asked impatiently, interrupting Thassarian's reminisce.

"No," Thassarian said, and walked away, thinking that it couldn't hurt to go and see how Koltira and Orbaz were getting along. Give them a hand if there was was anything to kill… oh, why bother to rationalize it? He could lie to Darion all day long, but there was no point in lying to himself: his guilt over turning Koltira had long since developed into something more complex. He had suggested the alcove arrangement hoping that sharing space would lead after a while to the type of close bond that sometimes developed between two men who were in prolonged physical proximity. The type of bond that involved admiration, and mentoring, and mutual… _admiration_.

Thassarian knew damn well that the dead weren't supposed to have such feelings, but the fact that he did hardly mattered when Koltira so clearly didn't. On a good day, the elf barely tolerated what passed for friendship with his brother-in-arms, and on a bad day… well, he was generally more Koltira-like than ever.

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Thassarian took a gryphon down, circling over the skirmishing going on between Scarlets and initiates in the hillsides just below Acherus. He didn't see Orbaz or Koltira, and was pondering whether it made more sense to scout Havenshire or go further afield to New Avalon when he heard shouting and the clanging of weapons coming from the cave-like tunnel that led to the Noxious Glade.

As he spiraled down he recognized Orbaz's voice, taunting. "Not talking so big now, are you Deathweaver?"

Then Koltira's voice—sounding distorted and half-strangled. "I'll give your skull to the gnomes for a chamberpot."

Thassarian jumped off the gryphon and ran.

"I'm going to enjoy blood-tapping you 'til your hair turns red," the echoing voice said, and there was such menace and gloating that as Orbaz came into view—one gauntleted hand around Koltira's throat, holding him off the ground while he pressed the point of his sword under the elf's chin—Thassarian felt himself dropping to Absolute Zero, the near-mythical level of frost magic that supposedly not even Amal'thazud had fully mastered.

"The only thing… worse than your… pick-up lines… is your breath," Koltira choked out.

Thassarian's runeblade glowed with power, and he unleashed.

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"I had it under control," Koltira said hoarsely, pulling his sword free from where it was embedded in the rock wall.

"I know." Thassarian eyed Orbaz, who was completely encased in a enormous block of magic-silencing ice. "I just felt like trying out a new attack."

Koltira walked out of the cave without giving the blood master a second look.

"So they're really that bad?" Thassarian asked as they started to fight their way southeast through the Scarlet Enclave into Havenshire.

"What?" Koltira snapped.

"His lines." He silenced a medic, then obliterated him.

"Oh," Koltira shook his head. _"Is that a Bone Shield in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"_

Thassarian guffawed. "Seriously?"

The tiniest of smirks twitched Koltira's lips. "Yes."

"Did he actually think you'd—?"

"He said," Koltira replied, pulling in an infantryman and drowning her in disease, "that Unholy was a synonym for depraved." He swing his sword, but the human was already crumpling. "That all elves were known to be mindlessly promiscuous." He spread death and decay on the ground around them as a mounted captain and two soldiers ran at them, "and that he'd already talked to you about 'sharing your special protegee' with him."

"That's a new one," Thassarian said, destroying a huddle of peasants with a blast of arctic wind.

"Which part?" Koltira finished off the captain, then began to search his body.

"That you're my protegee," Thassarian grinned.

Koltira, holding an official-looking missive that he'd pulled from inside the captain's tunic, turned to glare. "You will find it difficult to laugh without a head, Thassarian."

"You really must make his Blood Boil," Thassarian deadpanned. "I'm sure he'll be disappointed that I interrupted before anyone had their Horn of Winter blown."

Koltira huffed in disgust. "Nothing like that would have occurred. Your interference only made me look weak."

"Fine. I won't do it again. But from where I was standing it looked to me like Bloodbane had one Dancing Rune Weapon at your throat—"

"Don't say it," Koltira warned.

"—and another waiting for you in his leggings."

"Are you _quite _finished?" Koltira was climbing the hills behind Death's Breach: the transporter wasn't yet functional and they'd have to signal for a gryphon. He peered up at the underside of the Hold, watching for an Eye of Acherus to be launched.

"I suppose so." Thassarian sat on a rotting stump.

After several minutes of silence had passed, Koltira said very casually—as though his words were inconsequential, a string of random sounds merely spun to pass the time— "It was impressive."

"What was?"

"That ice." He glanced at Thassarian. "How long will it hold him?"

"I don't know. I've never thrown it so powerfully before." Thassarian shrugged. "Hours?"

Koltira, looking back up at the sky, made a small _hm_ sound. "What was it?"

Thassarian didn't answer until Koltira glanced over at him, and then said with precise emphasis, "Absolute Zero. A variant of Hungering Cold."

"Absolute Zero?" Koltira repeated, looking puzzled. "A specialty of yours?"

"Yes."

Koltira asked sharply, as if some new idea had just occurred to him, "Does it?"

"Does it _what_?" Thassarian had had it with Koltira's games, his constant defensiveness. What had he been thinking, trying to befriend such a thick-headed, ill-tempered grouch?

"Does the cold," Koltira turned to face him and folded his arms, "actually _hunger_ for something?"

"Well yes, of course," Thassarian growled. "Hasn't it been obvious?"

Koltira's pale thin face took on an expression that Thassarian hadn't seen for a very very long time: it was almost… _sly_. "I see," he said, looking down and scuffing at something with the toe of his boot. "Oddly, of late I find myself thinking more and more about… an icy touch." He appeared to be fighting a smile. "Perhaps I'm coming down with a frost fever."

Thassarian's unbeating heart give a sudden and not entirely unpleasant lurch. "I myself," he replied carefully, hoping he wasn't reading too much into Koltira's words, "generally ponder the implications of… runic corruption. Such as whether there is anything that might trigger an unholy frenzy."

Koltira was still very interested in the imaginary something on the ground. "Is that so? I wonder," he mused, "if these idle thoughts of ours are merely a result of the chill of the grave? I admit to curiosity. How do you suppose we might we test this?"

"Well," Thassarian cleared his throat. "First an undeniable unholy command would be required."

"Yes, of course." Koltira nodded. "Assuming that was issued, what then?"

"Such a clear acknowledgement would most likely result in Death's advance."

"Would it indeed? In that case," Koltira said decisively as a pair of skeletal gryphons swept down to them, "I suggest we continue this discussion in the Hold. Preferably in your alcove."

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Sometime later—after a great deal of surprisingly ardent mutual admiration had occurred—Thassarian and Koltira saw Orbaz, dripping wet and still dusted with frost, return to Acherus.

The rime took weeks to fade from his hair.

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_~ The End ~_

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Happy Yule, dear recipient! Hope you enjoyed this silly silly treat.

Note: for anyone who doesn't play a death knight, the spells, attacks, and talents directly mentioned were Blood Tap, Obliterate, Bone Shield, Death and Decay, Blood Boil, Horn of Winter, Dancing Rune Weapon, Pillar of Frost, Hungering Cold, Icy Touch, Frost Fever, Runic Corruption, Unholy Frenzy, Chill of the Grave, Death's Advance, Unholy Command, and Rime (Death Grip, Howling Blast, Pestilence, and Desecration were referenced indirectly).

P.S. A thank you to **Raidne Fern** for reminding me of Horn of Winter, Runic Corruption, and several other abilities I missed; as of 22 Jan 2012 they have been duly added.

Additional author's notes posted in my LiveJournal and Dreamwidth (URL in profile).

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rev 17 Feb 2015


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